


Knives Beneath Her Feet

by miss_lanyon



Category: Den lille Havfrue | The Little Mermaid - Hans Christian Andersen
Genre: BDSM, F/F, F/M, Revisionist Fairy Tale, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-27 23:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_lanyon/pseuds/miss_lanyon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you would walk, you will walk on knives," the sea-witch said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knives Beneath Her Feet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crumblingwalls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crumblingwalls/gifts).



> Thank you for the lovely prompt & the opportunity to Treat!

"If you would walk, you will walk on knives," the sea-witch said.

The little mermaid folded her tail beneath her and settled herself at the witch's feet. The eight oysters adorning her tail pinched as they clattered against the seabed; in reproof, she twitched so that they knocked against the rocks again. The pain was an anchor against her fear of the witch. Pain.... "Does it hurt the humans so?" she asked.

"No, but that does not matter. Your tail will be cloven, as if with a sword. You will move with the grace you know in the sea, and there is no such grace on land: you will be a marvel. Still, it will always be as knives with you -- walking, standing, kneeling. You will wonder, always, if you are bleeding."

The mermaid stared at her hands: they were white and small, much like the hands of the girl she had seen wake the prince whose life _she_ had saved. The sea-witch's hands were also white, but hers were large and callused with the work of magic. "I will bear it," she said.

The witch sighed. "If the prince will not love you, it will all be for naught. The moment he marries another, your heart will break, and you will become as foam on the crest of the waves. You will have no soul, my princess, any more than you do now."

"But if he does love me, as I love him" -- the witch laughed a little at that -- "then I will have an immortal soul, as the humans do."

The witch did not appear to find this much of an argument in favor of the business; indeed, the sea-princess wondered whether she wished to bargain at all. She seemed too quick to point out the failings of the idea, even _bored,_ as though she had somehow been disappointed with the request. "If you suppose that love can give you an immortal soul, yes."

"My grandmother told me; it is so!" the mermaid cried. She remembered that day: her grandmother summoning the oysters to clip her tail to demonstrate her great rank: _Pride must suffer pain,_ the old merlady had said. Then she had spoken of the upper world, and the immortal souls that humans had and merfolk would never possess. "Did I not follow him into the burning sea, with the ship falling around me, and pull him to safety? Isn't that love? Isn't that an immortal soul? When all is lost, someone will find you and carry you to safety forever."

"There are less expensive ways to be found. All magics have a price; and this is the greatest of magics. I will have your voice."

"My voice! How would I speak to him?"

"Up there," the witch said, "they do not care much for what women have to say, anyway. And while it is true that your voice is lovely, and your singing would enamor him, it is also true that great magic requires great price. You are pretty and graceful, you have small hands and speaking eyes -- I am sure you will figure out what to do with them."

The princess looked at her. The witch wasn't pretty; she was gorgeous and terrible, like razor-coral or a shark. If her face was not as sweetly rounded as the usual run of merfolk, the severity had its own power.

The mermaid could return home, with no one the wiser, or she could carry through with her plan, hoping for a soul. She was weeping, she realized; tears gathered in her eyes and were carried away by the water, spheres glowing with a pale phosphorescence and dissolving as if they had never been. She watched the vanishing pearls for a long moment. She would live longer than tears, but still.... "I will," she whispered finally.

The sea-witch beckoned. "Then come here, my dear, and kiss me. Then you must swim to the land, as quickly as you may, for the magic will begin its work."

The mermaid swam to her. The oysters on her tail fell away in terror as she neared the witch. Not knowing what to do, she presented her cheek. The sea-witch seized her head with one of those strong hands and turned her face to kiss her mouth deeply, drinking her voice. The mermaid felt as though she might faint; she caught at the witch's shoulders while the water began to swirl around them. Magic, she thought, and opened her mouth so that the witch's tongue could slip inside. The witch's tail wrapped around her once, twice, three times, trapping her as the water tried to pull them apart.

The witch began kissing her throat. The sea-princess tried to ask what was happening, but could not; she had paid her voice. The witch's mouth was on her breast. Her hand smoothed over the mermaid's buttocks; what had been strong fish-scaled muscles rearranged themselves, sleek skin over different bones. Isn't there supposed to be pain? she wondered. What she felt was not pain.

The witch kissed her navel, her belly, the girdle of scales around her waist; as she kissed, the scales peeled away. The mermaid writhed but could not escape, and was not sure she wanted to. She felt each hip flare to form a human-shaped pelvis; she felt a hand plane down the sides of her tail and she acquired knees, curiously knobby, bending helplessly in the stormy water. The sea-witch sucked each delicate new toe as it shaped itself and licked her newly-formed ankles. The insides of her knees were exquisitely ticklish. The mermaid's breathing caught and then bubbled away at each slow caress; pleasure was rising in waves.

Then the witch gently pried her legs apart and began tasting her inner thighs. If she could have, the mermaid would have screamed. She had been promised pain, but this was pure delight as the witch found, or created, each delicate fold, shaped each crinkly gold hair. Her entire body spasmed and jerked with the pleasure; the joy and the changing together were the same.

When at last she could breathe again, the witch released her. "Swim!" she shouted. She flung herself up, out of the deep water, towards the wavering light.

*

I am no longer a mermaid, or a princess, she thought, as she sat on the land. The world of land was gorgeous; the fishes of the air sang as sweetly among the giant kelp as any mermaid, while the river burbled in alto harmony as it rushed through the sands from the great reef where her prince dwelled. She almost had not made it to safety; before she broke the surface, she found she could no longer breathe without choking. Her lungs burned like fire, and she had spit up the seawater she had breathed all her life onto the rocky beach. The memory of the sea-witch's hands on her was like the brisk spring zephyr, making her skin tighten.

And now her prince was standing over her, looking down with eyes as black as the sea-witch's. She opened her mouth, but no words came. She remembered, belatedly, that she was naked, so she pulled her hair around her. He smiled a little at that, and held out his hand for her. She took it, confused, and she realized he meant to help her up.

She stood, her mouth stretching wide in a silent wail with the pain. He caught her as she stumbled on the sand. It was her only stumble: after a moment he let her go. She was as graceful as a soap-bubble, touching down so lightly upon the ground it seemed as though she had no weight in the world. I am beautiful, she thought, pleased despite the hurt. The prince followed her, watching her skin, as pale and perfect as if it had never before been touched by light or air, her hair tumbling down like a fall of starlight, brushing against the backs of her knees.

Her feet were bare, though, and soon left flecks and smears of blood upon the stones. He stopped her and lifted her up into his arms; she fixed her eyes on his face bravely. He smiled down at her and kissed her forehead and she sighed. Was this what the fishes of the air felt, flying? When he came to the castle, his people gathered around, staring curiously at her nakedness. "A foundling," he told them. "I found her by the sea. She is ill, no doubt." They gave way before him as he carried her deep into the stone reef. It held chamber upon chamber like a nautilus; the prince carried her round and round, ever deeper.

She tried to sit up a little, looking around her eagerly, and he pressed her closer so that she would not fall. The fastenings of his close-fitted scarves scratched against her skin. He turned again and again, walked up one coral hill to another layer within the seashell of his home. Finally they came to what must be the inmost heart and he laid her down on a soft platform, like a great sponge, and drew her hair from her face. "You are so beautiful," he said dreamily. "Who are you?"

She opened her mouth again, winced in frustration, and then smiled. He sighed. "Mayhap we shall teach you to speak, little one," he said softly. "But no, you make no sound at all: I think we shall not." She shook her head sadly against the pillows. "You understand me, though, don't you?"

She smiled at him radiantly. He blinked and stared. "I think you do," he said, and kissed her.

It was so sweet and tender! He was nothing like the witch, who had been terror and wonder combined. She twined her arms around his neck and pulled him down; he tumbled on top of her, laughing as he continued the kiss. The weight of his body was like the press of the sea against her; she felt nothing but him, his soft mouth, his long fingers on her breast. He pulled away the scarves and suddenly they were skin to skin and every movement was like fire. I love you, she thought, willing him to understand, touching him as though her hands could say, I love you so.

He was pressing tightly against her, and suddenly there was that anguish again, like knives, though she was not standing. He stopped and stared at her, wide-eyed, and she thought how kind he was. She pulled him closer and he smiled again. The motion went on and on. That smile must surely mean he loves me, she thought, content, as he shuddered against her. Finally everything was still.

The prince got up, then frowned and touched himself, for on his body were a few thin streaks of blood. "That was very nice, little one," he mused. "I wonder what you are about? Here, my dear, help me with my clothes." He held out what she had thought were scarves; she went to him, despite the way walking hurt her feet. Patiently, he helped her wrap them around himself, and when she was done he looked as fine as in the morning. "What an excellent valet you are!" he exclaimed, laughing: then took her to a cushion by the door. "You may sleep here, and I will have livery made for you, and you will be my foundling page."

She looked up at him again, her heart in her eyes. He looked back, as if sad or troubled, and then he went away. Exhausted, she slept.

*

So the little mermaid, who had been a princess in the sea, lived as a page. During the day, she followed the prince or danced for the court with the other slave girls; at night, she slept on a velvet cushion by his door until he lifted her into his arms. She lived for those moments; sometimes he was gentle and slow, but sometimes he tore the livery from her body, bound her wrists to the wall, and then whipped her until she could not tell the pain of standing from the burn of the lash or the fire in her sex.

When it was like that, he would watch her intently, carefully, as if waiting for a sign from her. A sign of what? She did not know; she only knew she feared and desired him so much then, it felt like love. She would come again and again until she hung limply from the heavy chains. He might release her, or might not; he might plunge his cock into her, anywhere, or he might simply come on her breasts and face; he might hold her afterwards, or he might leave her alone to the cushion. "Why don't you stop me?" he asked once, as he lowered her to her velvet. "Why don't I stop myself? You seem to be in pain all the time, except when I am hurting you." She could not lift her head, so she ran her finger along his cheek, his lips, then brought it to her mouth for a kiss.

He took her with him through the world above the sea; she was his acknowledged favorite, not only within the castle but throughout the land, for he gave her a pretty grey mare and they rode together the length and breadth of his country. Most wondrous were the forests, whole worlds unto themselves. Green boughs bent to touch her shoulders, sometimes a whisper touch of seaweed, sometimes a prickly sea-urchin feel. Sometimes the brush would rustle and growl and suddenly a wild boar, dangerous and tusked as a great narwhal, would burst through.

Sometimes he would lead them up the mountains; the horses would pick their ways slowly up switchbacked trails, and eventually they would have to dismount and climb on foot. She must remove her boots, because she could not climb in them, though her tender feet bled on the rocks. The pain was no worse than the knives of walking; she laughed, and followed him, and watched the clouds scud beneath them in pods. When he saw her bloody footsteps he would sigh and lift her into his arms, carrying her the rest of the way to whatever village they were visiting, then lay her to rest in the village headman's bed while he spoke to his people. She would think, then, of how much she loved him, and how much he loved her.

"Oh, you are dear to me," he said once, "You are like a young maiden whom I once saw, but whom I shall never meet again. I was in a ship that was wrecked, and the waves cast me ashore near a holy temple. The youngest novice found me on the shore, and saved my life." I saved you, she thought. I carried you through the storm. I have given everything for you.

But the prince continued on, "I saw her but twice, and she is the only one in the world whom I could love. But you have almost driven her image out of my mind; and we will never part." She felt hope then, but it never came into his head to make her his wife. And yet she looked at him with such longing – his parents, troubled, arranged a visit to a neighboring king's daughter.

"I must travel," he had said to her. "But I cannot love her. If I were forced to choose a bride, I would rather choose you, my dumb foundling, with those expressive eyes." And then he kissed her rosy mouth, played with her long waving hair, and lay his head on her breast, while she dreamed of human happiness and immortality.

For the first time in her life, the little mermaid traveled over the surface of the sea in a boat; it was silly and awkward, and the stories the prince told her of life beneath the sea were absurd. He knows nothing, she thought, with such an ache of love; she wished to tell him about her father's palace, the gardens, the great reefs, even the terrible sea-witch. She stayed on deck even when the rest went below, except for the helmsman. She saw her grandmother, risen to the surface of the waves, gazing at her mournfully, and waved in happiness.

They arrived at the neighboring king's harbor; there were parades and parties and balls, and finally the princess arrived. The little mermaid paled when she saw her: she was the temple novice. A student of the god, not a bride. "Oh, I am too happy," the prince whispered. "My fondest hopes are all fulfilled. You will rejoice at my happiness, for your devotion to me is great and sincere."

She could not rejoice. I saved you, she thought. Me. Not that silly schoolgirl. That night, as she sat forlornly on the harbor dock, the sea-witch rose before her. She did not seem as powerful above the sea; her hair fell lankly, and in the harsh light her features were too angular for grandeur. "Well," she said, in a voice the mermaid had never heard before: high and beautiful, nothing at all like the rich tones of before.

My voice, the princess thought. She felt, despite herself, a wish to feel those magic-callused hands upon her again. "He is to marry another," she mouthed.

"Yes. And you will die without a soul. That is the bargain."

Hope. "Is there another bargain I might make?" she asked.

The witch shrugged. "Your hair," she said abruptly, "is very beautiful."

It was, but there were thousands of girls with hair as lovely. And her hair mattered nothing to her, not as her voice had mattered. "It is not a great price."

"Then pity will serve. Here is a knife. Before the sun rises on his marriage, you must plunge it into the heart of the prince; when the warm blood falls upon your feet you will be once more a mermaid, and return to live out your three hundred years before you die and change into the salt sea foam. Kill or die, it is all one to the magic."

"That is all?"

The witch shrugged. "That is all _I_ can do." As if in a dream, the mermaid bowed her head, so that her braid fell into the water, and the witch reached up to cut her hair away. She kissed her, terror and wonder combined, and pressed the knife into her hand. Then, as an oyster-seller came to the docks, she turned and dove away, so he thought it was only the foam of the sea that he had seen. The princess found herself reaching after her, helplessly, but she could not follow. She thought she could still see her own bright braid trailing beneath the water in the witch's wake.

She stared at the knife for a long time; she did not want to die. She ran her hand through her shorn hair. Her voice, her hair, what else? For the first time, she wondered what she was truly paying for, in all her bargains. But I love him. But I want to have a soul.

"There you are, little one!" the prince exclaimed behind her; she turned to see him and his bride looking at her. "But what have you done with your hair? It is charming." He lightly ran his hand over the cropped curls. "My love, you saw she had such beautiful hair.... It is charming," he repeated. "I know you will be the best of friends. I know you will love her as I do." The human woman stared back gravely, a faintly skeptical tilt to her head. It was a fantasy neither woman shared. I will hate you until I die, the mermaid thought. I will not have a soul to live on and hate you after, but if I did, I would.

The prince put his arms around both of them, and then drew the mermaid away. Not to the palace, winding through to the heart of the nautilus and his new chamber, but to the cabin they shared on the ship. "In her kindness, she has given me one last night with you, before we marry," he said softly. "Oh, my love, do not look so sad." He touched the side of her face lightly. "Nothing will change."

It was almost true, she realized: if she lived after his marriage, she would still have slept on a velvet cushion by his door, and danced with the slave girls, and followed him to the villages. His bride would sleep in his bed, and watch the dancing by his side, and remain queen in his absence. He will want me for a long time, the mermaid thought. His bride was less graceful, more substantial; she seemed unlikely to allow him to bind her or beat her. One does not whip a queen.

They entered the cabin and he kissed her gently. It would be soft this time, the mermaid realized, despairing. He would touch as he would touch _her_.... No. She twisted herself from underneath him and backed away; he let her go, his face registering astonishment. She drew her gown over her shoulders and let it drop to her hips, then sank to her knees in front of him, ignoring the sharp pains wherever her legs touched the deck, watching his eyes. They were wide and looked almost like love. She imagined what she must look like to him, her naked torso rising naked from the soft green silks pooled around her, perhaps like a mermaid from the sea. His breathing had gone rough; she quickly freed his cock and pressed her lips over it, making her mouth tight and wet on his skin. She urged him deeply into her throat, then pulled slowly away to lick the head. Her tongue flickered around the rim, the underside, and he groaned. Finally he pulled her hair so that his shaft sank into her mouth again. She kept the rhythm slow and teasing, despite the pressure of his hands in her hair, and finally pulled away, leaving him panting and hard. She suppressed her wish to send back a teasing look, and rummaged through his sea trunk until she found what she wanted.

She kneeled again, presenting his rope and many-tailed whip, and he smiled. He was not gentle as he bound her face-down to the berth, nor as he thrashed her back and buttocks and thighs, nor as he shoved his cock into her ass in one hard thrust that drove her straight to orgasm. He pounded into her, the buttons of his trousers digging painfully into the welts he had raised, until her mouth opened wide in a silent scream of pleasure. Then he loosened the rope only to tie her down again, her arms spread and her body vulnerable to him. He watched her carefully, hotly, as he flogged her breasts and belly and sex. She was so open to him she could only come, over and over. When he finally penetrated her again, he was as gentle as she had feared in the beginning. She felt dissolved, permeated, as though the pain had flayed her down to some essential core of feeling.

She returned to herself to see him looking down at him, his face tender. "You fainted, my love," he murmured, kissing her gently. She smiled at him sadly, wishing it were true.

Once he was asleep, she disentangled herself and walked naked to the deck. The few waking sailors stared at her as she stood by the railing and wept at the sea. Die or die.... Before she could lose her courage, she flung the knife away and dove into the water, swimming until she could swim no more, the pearlescent wake dissolving almost as soon as she had gone.

**Author's Note:**

> The Little Mermaid can be read [online.](http://hca.gilead.org.il/li_merma.html)


End file.
